


Miscalculations

by RenMashiro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Time Travel, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenMashiro/pseuds/RenMashiro
Summary: Hermione dismantles the dialectic demands of time travel. How will her breakthrough lead to her escape from a pack of 'feral' werewolves, and how will her theories affect her stay in the 70's? Not your average time travel, and definitely not your average happy ending.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Song Recommendations For This Chapter: "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?"-- Travis

****Prologue** **

__I'm safe. I'm safe. It worked. I got out._ _

Looking around at the forest surrounding her, she released the breath she'd been holding Hermione was indescribably relieved she had at least managed to remain in her same location which, given her calculations were correct, ought to be a lesser wood not 5 kilometers from Hogsmeade.

__My wand!_ _

She dropped to her knees in a desperation, frantically searching for the gnarled piece of walnut that had only recently relented itself unto her. She paused her hand over the top of the wand and swallowed hard as she collected it firmly into her grasp. Ron had thought her morbid for her continued use of Bellatrix Lestrange's old wand, but to Hermione, it felt as if she was finally reattaining some semblance of control by mastering the conduit of her torture.

Drawing herself unsteadily to her feet she shakily took inventory of her current condition.

Mild concussion, bruising along and around her neck, a spattering of abrasions across most of her body, twisted ankle, shoulder bi-

Her clinical analysis was abruptly interrupted by her inability to cope with her next thought. Panic was now beginning to burrow itself into her, shortening her breaths into gasps and threatening to cloud her already addled brain.

__Blood. There was so much blood._ _

She cast a gentle tergeo over her shoulder wound, knowing anything beyond that was as useless as it was unrealistic given her state. She needed to be treated quickly, and beyond that, she needed to remain unseen.

Using the lingering fumes of her already drained magical capacity, Hermione closed her eyes and disapparated, appearing in front of the Shrieking Shack. She barely managed to stifle her wail as the pain of a moderate splinch tore into her wand arm, causing the piece to tumble out of her hand and onto the grass below her. No, that had by no means been a brilliant decision, but it was born out of necessity and she would therefore survive the consequences. Madame Pomfrey was her only option. Apparating further would only result in leaving of her behind, and no one respected one's wishes for nondisclosure more than Hogwarts' matron healer.

Hermione needed to get through that tunnel.

Clumping toward the shack's entrance, she absently scratched at her skin, leaving behind a track of minor lacerations. It was crawling, her skin was crawling. It felt too tight and too strained, as if it no longer fit her body. She caught her breath as her vision was blinded in hot white, and her hearing overwhelmed her in a cacophony of sound.

__No, no, no. This cannot be happening. I'm not ready for this!... I have to get to the shack._ _

Through her spotting eyesight, she viewed a figure running toward her. The boy looked to be her age; he was shorter than the average young man and quite rotund in stature. Dull, mousy hair mopped the top of his head, and his eyes... well, all Hermione saw of his eyes was the terror they beheld. The boy was wildly waving his hands as he yelled at her, but his voice was drowned in the devastating noise that rang in and deafened her ears.

"You have to lock me up!" She yelled at him, drawing on every ounce of strength given from her adrenalin rush to throw herself toward the door of the shrieking shack.

"Don't you understand? You need to lock me up NOW!"

The boy was flinging himself in front of the door, barricading her out. Pathetic tears, the sort associated with stubbing toes and dicing onions, were streaking and striping her dirt-caked face as she continued screaming at him to ward her in, only to be met by his head violently shaking in refusal.

Her wails filled the air as her pain intensified.

"It's too late!" She sobbed to the boy, not knowing if he could hear her.

"You need to run! Go!" The boy wasn't moving. Why wasn’t he moving? He just stood there, torn between keeping her out of the building and giving into his petrified shock.

"RUN!"

Anguish ripped through her frail and battered body with a gruesome crack of her spinal column as Hermione's consciousness bled from her mind and body.

X          x

A pitiful whimpering awoke her from her slumber. Eyes tightly shut, Hermione listened carefully for the source until a chocked sob broke the chain of pained whining, enlightening to her the realization that it had been her own crying.

Feebly, she opened her eyes. She was laying in some sort of meadow in a mess of dirt, blood, and morning dew, and was entirely naked save for a small blanket which managed to barely cover her modesty. Trembling, she attempted to push herself to sit before collapsing back down in a woeful heap on the forest floor.

Her endeavors startled the animal she hadn't noticed dozing at the edge of the clearing. The creature jumped to its feet with a territorial snarl before pacing and stalking back and forth, hackles raised, haunches lunge-ready, and eyes ceaselessly tracking her every movement, down the labored rise and fall of her chest.

"Padfoot?"

 


	2. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "I See Fire"-- Ed Sheeran

****Decisions** **

__1998: Grimmauld Place_ _

Hermione looked down at the parchment in her hands, absently tracing the cool, waxed grooves of the Hogwarts insignia on the seal. Head girl, charms apprenticeship, and liberated living conditions allowing weekends of unmonitored coming and going from the property... it was the culmination of seven years of endless research, persistent revising and tirelessly cogitating strategies and counter-strategies, both academic and otherwise. It was also a bearded consolation prize for her ceded innocence to an adolescence fraught with mortal peril, emotional manipulation toward self-sacrifice and blatant, but baseless, alienation.

She couldn't bring herself to rejoice in her “achievements,” instead, all she felt was numb.

Forcing herself into movement, she shuffled defeatedly toward a chair across from her best friend and roommate.

"I'm not going back."

The words hung in the air with a foreign tone that troubled her counterpart.

"Hermione, I can't let you avoid Hogwarts. You're meant to be there-"

"Yes, well, so is Colin Creevey!” She sat waspishly. “So is Lavender Brown, for that matter, along with countless others!" Harry could only gape at his friend. He was accustomed to her hot-headed outbursts when championing for the under-recognized or against the unjust. However, this palpable anger was unprecedented and it only served to madden him in return. In that moment, he found her to be something he never thought she was capable of-- selfish.

"So go because they can't, Hermione!" He bit out angrily, inflicting further culpability on her already conflicted soul.

"And sacrifice another year of my life for everyone else? And for people who aren't even alive to benefit from it?" Hermione gasped breathlessly, torn between how grossly egotistical that statement sounded to her own ears, and yet how torturously honest and true those words were as they fell from her lips. Stoning her countenance she continued on, disallowing her empathetic sensibilities to betray her irrefutable convictions.

"They're dead, Harry.” She stated bluntly, settling upon him the look of inarguable fact that she’d used countless times to scold him on unfinished assignments. “My returning to Hogwarts won't matter a whit to them, and I am not willing to pretend that it didn't happen, to have my life once again outside of my own control because I'm told to, or because it's expected. You of __all__  people should understand that."

Harry watched her face in an attempt to map her emotions, but was left wanting. He'd come to both value and appreciate the openness of her face, as she was not one to mask or obscure her sentiments. She was emotional by nature, and her unguarded features exposed her, making every fleeting feeling fully comprehensible. Her face now scared him. It was deadened, vacant, and apathetic. Her eyes- they weren't even haunted, they were simply void, and it scared him.

"Jeez, Hermione. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-” He wanted to appear okay with this, hell, he wanted to __be__  okay with this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to. “So what are you going to do, then?"

"I don't know, Harry. I think I'd rather like to just disappear?"

"You're leaving?" He asked with his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest, seemingly threatening to crack the confines of his rib cage. There was no way, just no bloody way, he could coped with another loss, even if the loss didn't equate to death.

"No, I'm not leaving. I just want to- I don't know... hide in plain sight, I guess? 'Go underground' would probably be the most appropriate turn of phrase. I'd like to study here at Grimmauld, if that's amenable to you, then sit my N.E.W.T.s and work in some manner of research. No press, no daily endangerment, no compromising to meet anyone's expectations but mine, and working within my own obscure schedule, free of the small-talk and gossip that is the office hoopla."

"What kind of research?"

"Time, I think. I'd like to work in the DoM." Neither were looking at each other, opting instead to find ineffable comfort in their silent companionship. That is, until Hermione's twisted scoff broke the afflicted quiet.

"The time room... Two years ago that room meant trepidation and a nightmare, now it means sanity and an escape, and neither alter the fact that it took ruination and baneful annihilation to bridge the two. Poetic, isn't it?" She asked Harry with a sinister laugh who, in turn, questioned himself on just when his best friend's humour had darkened so perversely. 

"Almost like the phoenix itself." He confessed, though he wasn’t confident he believed in that hope anymore.

 


	3. The Thesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendations: "Time Is On My Side"-- The Rolling Stones

****The** ** ****Thesis** **

__August 1998_ _

15 hours.

That's all that was required for Hermione to virtually abandon her association with Britain's magical society:

 _ _One hour__ to impeccably pen an inquiry into the potential of future options within the DoM.

 _ _Two hours__ to receive an enthusiastic, yet bartering, owl in reply.

 _ _Three hours__ of Hermione tearing through the Black Library, scouring for preparatory material as well as counter-curses for those related books her Muggleborn self could not touch.

 _ _30 Minutes__ to floo call the DoM secretary and entice (read: vaguely threaten) the poor woman into scheduling her for a same-day meeting with the ever evasive, and somewhat reclusive, department head.

Another __30 minutes__ to prepare herself for said meeting.

Exactly __48 seconds__ to skip all pleasantries, receive the department head's offer, and seal the next lifetime away to their verging-on-cultish secrecy with a flourish of a quill. The ensuing __five hours and eleven seconds__ were utilized to pick apart the man's brain and capacity for any job relevant intelligence.

 _ _One hour__ to politely decline Hogwarts' spurious honors, owl-order N.E.W.T. preparation books, and send a patronizing letter to the ministry's department of education on what sort of faith and support she and her public notoriety would hold toward the ministry should they not find it in themselves to understand and accept her humble demand- erm, request to sit her N.E.W.T.s despite her 'unfortunate sabbatical.'

A flurry of more letters dominated the next __one hour__ : a privacy protection attorney, a jar to Ms. 'Me, Myself and I' Skeeter as insurance, and a request for Bill Weasley to reinforce the strength and creativity of the wards at number 12 Grimmauld Place.

X          x

15 hours.

That’s all it took for Harry to realize she was gone. His best friend may have survived the war, she may be residing in his home... but somewhere along the way, he'd lost her.

X          x

__August 31st, 1998_ _

Hermione was sprawled among stacks of curled and aged parchment. She laid on her back, one knee bent and arms thrown limply across her face. Harry almost believed her to be sleeping until his attention was drawn to the unmanned clacking of keys from a nearby, avocado colored typewriter. It was quite amusing, really, to see such a Muggle object print and pound on the antiquated Wizarding parchment.

"What do you want, Harry?" Her question was punctuated by the harping __ding__  and warbling __swoosh__ of the typewriter as it shifted to the next line of parchment. He could tell she was perturbed by his intrusion, or perhaps his presence, he was wholly unable to differentiate between the two anymore.

"Hermione, are you...? Wait, how is that thing typing without you dictating?" Apparently inquiring after the obscure object was the correct path to take, as her arms whipped away from her face with an almost alarming exuberance, giving view to a rare and genuine smile. His heart constricted at the familiar sight of that expression. Too long had she been building and reinforcing her stoic distance from him. Too long had he thirsted for her spark of excitement toward her unquenchable educational thirst that he had often times bemoaned throughout the past. Too long had it been since he'd __seen__  her.

"Oh! It was my father's old typewriter and then I found a book in-" Her smile faltered for a brief moment as she caught her nearly catastrophic mistake of mentioning 'the rooms' in her department.

"Well, I found a book."

"I didn't think that the unspeak- Well, I didn't think level nine much cared for that sort of thing."

Hermione shocked him further by actually grinning at his equally measured faux pas.

"They're not, really. I found a book, a spell, and I- erm- modified it?"

"Modified it? You say that like it's a question."

"Well, because I'm not entirely sure how legal it is. It's more a personal project and, erm, you know how the Ministry is with recreational use of office information and... __legilimency__."

Hermione practically whispered the last word and sat up to feign her perusal through a nearby manifesto, blatantly refusing to meet his eyes.

"Legilimency? But how did... I never knew you... well fuck, Hermione. When did __that__  happen?"

Hermione pinched her eyes shut, clearly dreading whatever confession she was then felt coerced into admitting.

"Last year when we were on the run. I wanted- I __needed__  to see what you saw when he entered your mind. I needed more information to process."

Shock. Anger. Betrayal. Above all, confusion. But which emotion was he supposed to express first?

"So you mentally assaulted me?"

Shock.

"We survived in our own personal Hell with only each other to help us survive, but that didn't make us close enough for you to talk about that with me?"

Anger.

"Instead you had to essentially rape me?"

Betrayal.

"Yes, Harry."

Confusion. Above all, confusion.

"And I suppose a one-word answer is supposed to suffice? I suppose I'm just supposed to accept what you say as the best possible route without question... like always?"

Hermione winced slightly but turned to face him. She'd always been so emphatic in everything she did. She was quick to anger, quicker to forgive and quickest to apologize for any unintentional hurt she's sourced; Harry had no idea as to how to handle this new Hermione, this cold and shrewd Hermione.

"I can apologize if you want to hear those words, but I will never be genuinely sorry for what I did. Your thoughts on legilimency were established when you tried to learn occulemency from Professor Snape, you wouldn't have let me in, and as our strategist I didn't just need to __know__ , I needed to __see__."

Harry wasn't sure if he was more upset at __her__  for the heinous omission of truth, or at __himself__ for his comprehension that she'd been entirely valid in her analysis.

"It saved us, you know, my legilimency. The more you work with legilimency, the better understanding you have of the mental magics, and the stronger your occlumency becomes as a result. There's a reason Bella- Bellatrix never attained any information from me."

Any anger Harry felt immediately dissipated. __She's right.__ _ _Go__ _ _ddamn__ _ _it, she's righ__ _ _t…__ _ _again.__ Was all that looped through his consciousness.

"It's also the reason we escaped."

Hermione watched as his jaw loosened a fraction, just enough to allow for his sharp intake of breath. She had never spoken to them about their imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. Harry and Ron had seen the scars, they'd listened to the screams that chilled them down to the porous marrow of their bones, but Hermione had not once been forthcoming with the full recount of her torture.

"Malfoy... Draco... was near me all but the full time. He was terrified, so very and truly scared. His eyes were wide and clear, and he just kept staring at me unblinkingly. Direct eye contact, Harry. I implanted a thought there, like you'd do with a memory. I put the image of a house elf there. I'd studied wards copiously, knowing we'd need them that final year, and I knew wards such as the Malfoy's could only be breached by a house elf. Dobby was abused my Lucius, but practically raised Draco, and furthermore was freed by, and devoted to, __you__. I'm sure he was the first elf to come to mind."

Harry briefly wondered if this was how the Pre-Socratics felt when Aristotle evidenced the earth was round. When had his life been become composed of nothing but harsh contradictions? He had died, twice, yet he was alive, his best friend and sister was a stranger to him, and now his bitter rival and sometimes enemy was his savior.

Harry did the only thing he could think of in that moment to cope with the unsettling onslaught of information, he sat down beside Hermione and pulled her into his side. For the first time in weeks, she reciprocated by wrapping her arms around him and burrowing her face into his shoulder. He felt no desire to disrupt the moment of utter contentment, but knew the instant must be broken, and all too soon.

"You better get ready, Hermione. We're expected over at the burrow in just a few minutes."

"The Burrow?" She questioned in confusion. Had she truly been so deeply immersed in her work that she'd forgotten an engagement? The truth of the matter was that she could not even properly sort out which day it was, let alone a social obligation, the likes of which she avoided entirely.

"Yes, Hermione, the Burrow. Remember? Ron and Ginny's going away party since tomorrow he goes to Hogwarts? We were going to mercilessly tease Ron about the irony of __him__ being the only one of us to go back?" He asked her in a teasing manner, attempting to jog her memory while jesting her simultaneously. It was to no avail, she didn't remember any of it.

"Oh, well, I don't think I'll be going... too much research. Have a nice time."

Harry simply stared at her, jaw slightly ajar. There was no embarrassment at having forgotten, no tidings of her love and good wishes toward their friends, no passing along admonishment to Ron should he owl her for a forgotten book or more detailed notes. Instead, as quickly as she'd returned to him, she'd disappeared and engrossed herself in her tomes.

How long would he have to wait to see another glimpse of her, the __real__  her?

"Can I at least ask what you're doing? You know, since you've displaced your commitment to the people who care about you?"

She didn't shudder at his accusation, she didn't even blink.

"The compromise for me entering the DoM now, before N.E.W.T.s, was that I complete a thesis, just like the ones you do at a Muggle university. If it's approved and I'm trained as an unspeakable it will double as my first theoretical application... my first project."

"Oh yeah?" Harry was still quite miffed at her sudden drift back into stoicism and complete dismissal of their surrogate family. "And what would that be?"

"You know I can't tell you that." She snapped at him, having circled back to her original annoyance at his interruption of her work.

"How about this. I take a wizards oath and you tell me as compensation for fucking violating my bloody brain last year."

… He wasn't sure what to expect as he furiously swore to Merlin his silence and confidentiality, but it certainly wasn't what she'd told him in return.

"Time, Harry. I'm trying to break the loop in time turning. I'm trying to find a way to, when turning, to not just fulfill time, but to __change__  it."

 


	4. Please Come Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "How To Save A Life"-- The Fray

****Please Come Home** **

__December 1998_ _

The following months bled through time as freely as Hermione let herself forget about it. They were months met with a hefty stacking of unread letters from Ron and cold plates of Harry-delivered food left untouched outside her warded door. They were days matched with the continual sinking of her purple-ringed eyes, the sallowing of her once luminous skin, and the gradual slipping away of reality and sanity against her growing state of isolation. They were hours holed away within a dismal chamber where the research of time seemed to devour the very 'time' that was studied.

The world hand tumbled into December before anyone proposed to forcibly extract Hermione from her sheltered solitude. Between Ron's return to Hogwarts, Hermione's detachment from all Weasley-related ruckus and the loss of so many of their friends who would have taken the role of caretaker; the task defaulted to Harry, which is why sunset found him pounding on Hermione's door with a plea to talk before she swept herself off to continue her perpetually nocturnal hours at the Ministry.

He had a plan. Firstly he would start with inquiries into any new charm modifications she may have come up with, in order to warm her toward engaging in conversation. Secondly, he would offer some sort of related memory or anecdote to reflect on, and set their friends and their past into an enticingly rosy glow in an attempt to bring her back to her own self. Thirdly, he would beg, beseech, implore, even bargain, for her to just come home to them. Fourthly, and finally, and only if the matter became desperate, he would bellow and holler in hope that he could at the least incite one of her previously infamous tirades- even anger was preferred over this indifference. Yes, Harry had a plan.

Until it was foiled.

A sudden scuffle at his back surprised him into lurching forward, imprinting his face on Hermione's door.

"Did you need something, Harry?"

"Em, I, um, you..."

Having her catch him by surprise was, in fact, __not__  part of the plan, and had caused a momentary blankness to overtake his brain.

"Okay, well, if you didn't need anything I'll just be grabbing my files and will be off."

She pushed past him, making to close the door behind her. Harry recovered just quickly enough to jam the door ajar with his fingers with an accompanying yelp before following her in.

"So... any new creations like the thought quill?"

"You mean the Legiliquill?” __Damn it.__ Harry cursed to himself. __That really is a brilliant name.__  “No. I haven't had much time to research my personal projects, adapting the charm on my typewriter to accommodate wizarding norms took quite a bit longer than I anticipated. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason in particular. Just making small talk."

__Okay... step number one fumbled. I'll just have to keep moving forward._ _

Hermione only responded with an understanding, yet dismissing, wave of her hand as she scoured her room for whichever file she was seemingly anxious to find.

__Okay, Harry. Think, think, think. Legiliquill... something related. Quick quotes quill, perhaps? Yes, that's it!_ _

"Remember that crazy quill Skeeter used to use? That woman was bloody certifiable, I still can't believe she actually wrote half of the shite she did."

"Oh, I remember all too well, Harry. The articles about my gold-digging, two-timing intrigues, yes? How could I forget. Oh, don't discount how those led to Molly hating me. Also, they were printed roughly the same time Ron wasn't speaking to you due to all the, entirely imagined, slights against him, were they not?"

__Damn. Two for two in the category of epic failure. I guess I did have that one coming... why did I think the Skeeter memory was a good choice, again? Well, might as well disband all notions of pride and self-respect... commence the groveling._ _

"Hermione. I'm sorry I brought that up, I just don't know how to talk to you anymore. I just want to be let in."

Hermione made no move to verbally respond, but her entire body froze upon hearing Harry's admission.

"I just- I feel like I've lost everyone, Hermione. You're- I sometimes feel that you're all I have left. I mean, yes, I have Ginny, and Ron still writes, even Neville comes over to visit- but it's just not the same. I know we didn't have much of a childhood in school, but you're the reminder to me that those times weren't all so bad, either. Yeah, we were dealt a miserable hand, but you're what remains of the time before this Hell we're in right now- the adjusting to life after losing half of the people we loved, stage. When I look at you, I see..."

He was suddenly unsure as to whether or not he ought to continue. Doubt was warning him to ease up and engage her, but the need for honesty and confession endured as his truths tumbled out in rapid recklessness.

"I see __Colin__  alive and following us around with his camera. I see __Remus__  looking over your summer assignments and debating magical theory with you. I see __Sirius__  trying to rile you up at every turn. Hell, I see __Fred__  giving you bruise cream after that stupid invention popped you good and square in the eye!"

There was still no reply, only the hesitant turn of her quickly thinning frame as she made to sit at the edge of her bed. She may not have been responding, but she was listening. He was getting through to her.

Harry slowly stepped toward her. How could a woman who had always been so strong, all heat and flame, produce such a diminutive aura akin to a frightened colt, ready to flee at too close a contact? He knelt to the ground between her knees and drew her cracking, ink-stained hands into his as he bent his neck forward to peer upwards into her stoic face.

"I need you, Hermione. It's been-"

His voice was cracking. He had known he'd missed her, desperately, but he hadn't acknowledged how deeply the pain and loneliness of her turn-away and sequential neglect had affected him.

"It's been too hard. I can't do this anymore. It just- it hurts too much and I can't handle this on my own anymore. You may thrive in your seclusion, but you've shut __me__  out entirely, and I'm drowning. I can't-"

Harry felt a small, icy hand push away the tears he'd unknowingly shed, cradling his face in her palm as she looked at him. For the first time since they'd survived the war, she was actually seeing him. There was still no change in her cool demeanor. There was no crying and no apology from her, only the closure of her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him into her embrace. Harry wept as he mourned for the warmth and reassurance her contact used to bring him.

"I should hate you, Hermione. I should really hate you. And part of me doubts I will ever fully forgive you."

His voice was vaguely muffled as he sobbed into her lap, but she only held him tighter, and he knew she was listening to his every word.

"But I need you, Hermione. Please, for everything that is holy, for all that we've been through together, __please__  come home."

The night ebbed away in that same manner that those months had so freely bled. Not once had Hermione spoken, but not once had she let him go, either.

X           x

Harry awoke with the bitter tang of dried tears in his throat and mouth. He was alone.

As he tugged the duvet upward to more comfortably hibernate the day away, wholly unaffected that it was not his bed, a crunch alerted him to a crinkled bit of parchment.

It won't be long now, Harry. Things are going to be different, but only time can tell.

X          x

Hermione hiked determinedly through the bit of woods; her chin jutted forward, her hand grasped tightly around an odd bit of metal, glass, and sand, and her beaded bag fell around her opposite wrist.

__First, I need a test._ _

 


	5. Trial and Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "Miscalculations"-- Miracle Fortress

****Trial and Error** **

__December 1998_ _

It was the perfect little meadow to conduct her experiment. It was not far from Hogsmeade, should her results be unexpected, yet greatly distanced from any travel paths and therefore granted her anonymity. There ought not be anyone meandering through this part of the woods who could tamper with her preparations or, worse yet, interfere with her trial.

Looking at the wilderness surrounding her, Hermione allowed herself to genuinely 'feel' in its stillness. She had been so determined after the war to firmly cap the overabundance of emotions which threatened to consume her, that she'd ultimately confined herself to a prison of mental torpor. In the beginning, there were often times where she wished nothing more than to lower her bars and reach out to those she loved so dearly, to cry on their shoulder as they offered words of comfort and solidarity. The trouble was, she'd grown so accustomed to the lethargic apathy that she could no longer recall how to function in any other setting. She no longer knew how to cope.

Here, though, with the hardened snow crunching beneath her protective boots and her wool coverings warding away the flakes tumbling from tree limbs, her recollect whisped a faded remembrance of love and friendship into her mind's sight. She clung to it in desperation until the warmth of the concepts permeated her entire being.

Hermione knelt down onto the frozen earth, disregarding the cold which soaked through the layers at her knees. The forgotten exhilaration of potential itched at her consciousness as a vision of Harry's face came to her.

 _ _Everything's going to be better, Harry. I promise you. You're never going to feel that pain again... you're never going to feel that pain__  ever _ _.__

His words during the night had shaken her immensely. Each plea rattled the bars of her self-imposed jail, and each and every one of his tears was met with a painful seize of her heart and lungs.

Determined, Hermione drew forth a small vial of elemental Mercury before drawing herself into the center of her runic circle. One hour. That's all that was needed. The many, strict rules of time travel had been ingrained in her at only thirteen, the most significant being 'do not be seen.' The results could be catastrophic, not to mention psychologically damaging. For Hermione, however, the results were also well worth the potential insanity, or increase thereof.

Hermione was alone when she came into the clearing little over an hour ago. If this worked, she would travel back to just before drawing her circle. She would be face to face with her hour-younger self, and cause some level of divergence to the timeline, thus traversing beyond its circular boundaries. Then, as that past self would have already been aware of her intentions, would merely move forward with the trial as expected as to reconcile that divergence.

Drawing a steadying breath, she re-checked her Mercury inked runes before clutching an obscure model of time-turner as she began to boldly recite her incantation with hardened eyes trained directly to her front.

Waves of motion pooled around her eyes in a tornado of hues and indistinguishable shapes. When the vortex settled, she slowly processed the details of her new circumstance.

She was not alone as was anticipated. What Hermione had not expected, was a miscalculation.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"Remus?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why Mercury?   
> It is associated with a promise of power as well as a false promise of longevity and health. It also has always been understood to be toxic and associated with mental derangement. Mercury is one of three principle elements in the art of alchemy (the other two being sulfur and salt).


	6. Into the Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Week's Song Recommendation: "Under Pressure"-- Queen

****I** ** ****nto the Den** **

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"Remus?"

The expression on the werewolf's face was one of terror and anguish, an instant give away that she'd turned herself blindly into a volatile situation. When she appeared in the altered time it was, at the very least, serendipitous enough to grant solitude where only she and Remus stood. As she peered over his shoulder, however, she sighted the outline of what appeared to be a colony of sorts, comprised of aged and tattered tents. Her eyes flicked back to the man in front of her, taking inventory of his appearance. He looked just the same as he did when she'd last seen him in the war, perhaps with a few more scars barely concealed behind his rustic facial hair and heavily bagged eyes.

__Dear gods,_ _ __I've sent myself back to the war._ _

Realization jolted itself through her frail body as she registered just how dire of circumstances she'd scrambled herself into. The last time she'd seen Remus alive was at Bill and Fleur's wedding, just before she and the boys went on their hunt... just before Remus himself was sent back into the werewolf packs.

"Hermione!" Remus repeated her name more forcefully, demanding her full attention as he gripped her shoulders with a hefty shake, unadulterated terror blatant in his face. "Why are you here and not with Harry?" 

Throughout the length of the war, Hermione had always mentally stockpiled a plethora of theoretical exit strategies which she could draw from in any instant. It was how she'd always finagled their way out of their most immediate threats. Now, however, with the calloused hands of a battle casualty-- one whose corpse she'd witnessed in the never ending line-up of the dead-- digging his fingers into her shoulders, her mind was devastatingly empty. All she could do was stare with widened eyes up at her former professor.

"It doesn't even matter now, you just have to get out of here. You __cannot__  be found out, do you understand?"

He's right, I have to leave. I have to leave. I have to-

Oxygen flooded into her body as she gasped herself back into reality. Blinking rapidly, she locked eyes with Remus and nodded her head in recognition.

"Do you have your wand still?" Still nodding, she brought her wand up to reassure him.

"Good. Now disapparate as quickly as possible. They won't let me alone for much longer."

Hermione closed her eyes in attempt to clear her mind. Where was safe? Where could she re-perform the turning? Just as she locked onto the mental image of her Parents' old home, accompanied by a stringing internal chant of 'destination, determination, deliberation,' she heard Remus' voice cut through her preparation from the opposite edge of the clearing.

"Is Harry... Is Harry alright?"

"He's alive, I promise. Harry's alive, and he's-"

Panic as she'd never seen it before crossed Remus' face, sharply silencing her mid sentence as firm arms wrapped tightly around her underfed frame, immobilizing her in an unrelenting hold.

"How considerate to bring us a play thing, Lupin." Bellowed the gravely voice beside Hermione's ear. "There's not much on her, too bad we can't plump her up before the moon. Maybe her size will make her more... compliant, eh?"

The implications of her captor's words were transparent, sending Hermione into a fit of defiance against the binds of the arms confining her. She watched as eyes locked with hers, Remus tightened the line of his mouth but did not immediately rebuke the man's words. There were not a great deal of options, she knew, and those few that were available would have to be enacted flawlessly. The only comfort he could offer was eye contact, and he gave it unflinchingly in his attempt to anchor the young woman he'd unwittingly endangered.

"That may be so, Gunnar, but I'll be asking you to unhand her nevertheless."

"And why should I let the chit go, Lupin? After all, I caught her."

"And after all, she knows and trusts me, not you, and that warrants a certain level of obedience toward only me." There was an inkling of recognition is Gunnar's eyes that struggled against his reluctance to release the little wisp he'd snatched.

"You may have __caught__  her, but she is __mine__." Snarled Remus, extending himself to his full height and grasping forward to imprint his finger nails into one of the man's wandering hands. " _ _Let. Her. Go.__ "He growled viciously.

Sourly acknowledging his misstep, Gunners hands flexed away from Hermione's body in concession before shoving her whimpering frame forward into Remus' protective embrace.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Lupin." Spat Gunner in sour malice. "Don't forget to take her to Ardolf, he won't be happy you've brought a no-were into the fold without permission."

Remus merely nodded before pushing Hermione in front of himself and nudging her onward toward camp, whispering a barely audible stream of 'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry' into her ear.

Whether or not Remus would be able protect her was entirely unknown, either way they were headed into the Den.

 


	7. Ardolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "When Da Dawgs Come Out to Play"-- Bai Burea

****Ardolf** **

Remus' hand pushed firmly against Hermione's shoulder as he directed her through the camp. The walk drew an accompaniment of chesty growls and muttered expletives toward the young woman from the wall of predatory beings. Hermione, against all rationality, openly whispered Remus to let her go, begged him to free her, but still, his dominating grasp barreled her onward. It wasn't until her barely concealed hysteria had begun to surface that he made any move toward removing it. Her ill-thought attempt at bucking herself free was immediately snuffed as Remus, her former professor, a man she looked up to, the kind soul who offered chocolate at any opportunity, snaked a heavy hand around her fleshy neck and drove her hard into the ground with a cautionary bark. Wide-eyed and gasping, Hermione tried helplessly to mouth out words, a plea for mercy, but was only met by a snarl next to her ear as Remus leaned toward her. His words were barely audible, they were spoken so low as to be drowned out by a murmur, and she felt no motion to his lips as he spoke them.

"Tonight is the full moon, Hermione, they can hear everything. I'm so sorry, my dear, I will do all I can to free you, but I must be rough with you or further risk your safety. Forgive me."

And as quick as he'd grounded her, he had her back on her feet, this time with an arm wrenched painfully behind her back with locks of her hair gnarled horrifically around his fingers. The werewolves watching the interaction only jeered at his boorish handling. In that moment Hermione understood and marginally bowed her head in hopes that Remus would read the action as one of compliance. At length, they halted before the largest tent at the heart of the colony. It was no cleaner than those on the outskirts but was dressed with pelts and chimes of bones.

"In."

There was no room for a response as Remus' opposite hand roughly pushed her head down and through the opening of the canvas before forcing her down to the earth as he took a knee, eyes downcast and neck ever so subtly presented in a display canine subservience. Slowly, as if dealing with a spooked animal, Hermione raised her head to take in her surroundings, only to lock eyes with a monster.

"Ardolf." __So this is the man that Gunnar had threatened Remus with.__  Though there was barely a man at all. This werewolf was gripped by a partial transformation, not unlike Fenrir Greyback. But where Greyback maintained his wolf to wreck havoc on innocents according to his human thoughts and emotion, this __Ardolf__  was overwhelmed by an animalistic and downright feral disposition. He was unpredictable and therefore terrifying.

"Our territory was breached by a no-were. I know her from before... I don't know how the little witch came to be here, the girl always __did__  have a knack for being where nobody wanted her, but I will admit her aptitude in regards to magic, and she will comply- she may prove useful to you, yet."

The words, though she knew they were a farce, devastated Hermione beyond reason and she could not suppress the pitiful whimper that escaped her. Ardolf's attention snapped to her at the sound with a devastating gnar that stole the very breath from her lungs and forced her eyes downward in submission. Remus cocked his head further, craning the vulnerability of his offered neck into plainer view until the rumblings of the subsided.

"I may be your alpha, __cur__ , but you are __not__  my progeny. You are already an outsider here and yet you bring me an unturned bitch who barely looks old enough to breed?"

Remus sank lower to the ground, forcing Hermione lower still, as he warily felt the alpha's eyes inspect his offering.

"However, you say she will be helpful to us and she smells pleasantly... untouched. You can keep the whelp for now. Chain her to your tent, I will come to deal with her before the moon pulls us." They were dismissed. With a shove of his shoe, Ardolf had Hermione sprawled belly to dirt before Remus yanked her by the scruff and dragged her toward the edge of the camp. He all but threw her inside his tent before immediately following and throwing up the fastest sound wards she had ever seen. He caught her inches from the ground and cradled her crumbling frame to his chest. Though she had to tears to shed, Remus held her as if she were fleeting and pet her hair as if she were inconceivably fragile... and in that moment, she truly was.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I am so sorry, my dear. I will fix this, I promise you. I will fix you."

 


	8. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "Safe & Sound"-- Taylor Swift

****Consequences** **

The moon was calling and still Ardolf had not come. Remus was swiftly becoming more and more agitated; his breathing became more rapid, his responses to Hermione's questions more aggressive, his threats to the alpha more murderous. His feet kept him occupied by endlessly pacing the parameters of the tent as eyes tracked his prowling defensively from what little shelter of a corner was to be found by their owner. Hermione implicitly knew that something was wrong. She let her eyes momentarily flicker to the small crack between tent flaps. It was dusk. Still, nobody came.

A sharp inhale from Remus immediately drew her attention back to what little of the man was left, her heart rate increasing exponentially at the realization of what could prompt such a drastic and expedited change.

"We do not change in camp borders. Alpha calls, wolves gather. Moon calls, wolves run, wolves sing to her... Alpha has not called..."

Moony was already fighting to take over, it seemed, as the simplicity of instinct overhauled Remus' penchant for dignified yet delicate speech. Remus shook his head violently, trying to maintain his rational's hold on his brain for just a little longer as he rushed to the tent's entrance to peer out at the camp.

"They have already left. I don't know what game Ardolf is intending to play, but you must stay here. I will ward this tent with everything I know, my full artillery, but it is too late to get you out, I'm sorry."

And with that he was gone... or he was supposed to be. The strength of his departure resulted in his restless form being flung backwards with two-fold as much. Hermione's gasp of realization was strangled by her throat restricting in unadulterated panic. She was trapped.

"No. NO. No-no-no-no-no!" Flashes of colored lights bolted so quickly from Remus' wand, she was certain his murmurings and spells were counted and matched, curse for cast, they were both so rapid. His feet were nearly dancing in their desperate attempt to flee from his promised Hell. It was no graceful Swan Lake, no metered Tchaikovsky, but a flurried Stravinsky. Hermione couldn't help but allow a wholly inappropriate giggle to pass through her colorless lips as her mind, subjugated by the oppressive reality of her own mortality, circled her back to safe, rainy days spent nestled between her parents watching a frazzled ballerina in red slippers dance her way to her own demise before gratefully welcoming the reprieve that was her own death. She closed her eyes, ignoring Remus' frenzied footwork, and she was transported. She no longer inhaled the stench of feral living, but caught wafts of sugar-free biscuits cooked just a little too long. Winter's bite was replaced by the quilted blanket lovingly sewn from childhood rompers and swaddles. The movement around her held no promise of imminent death, but instead was the muted reflection of the telly casting dancing puppet-like shadows on the sheltering innocence of her home. When the memories were being lived she had left her parents' embrace only to dance around the lounge, imagining a pair of red shoes adorning her own feet.

She didn't want to dance anymore.

Awakening from her enticingly sweet dream world, she slowly rose to her feet, traversing the short distance to the pacing werewolf before her.

"Remus." She whispered, unsuccessfully drawing him from his feud with the wards. "Remus!" She tried again, louder and forcefully.

His eyes and wand stayed poised at the door, but the view of silent tears streaming down his face was entirely unobscured.

"They must be blood wards, Hermione, I can't- I can't- Hermione I can't..."

"Shhh... Remus." She cooed as she pushed his wand arm down, taking it's place has her hands cradled his face. She had never been so close to him, she'd always felt propriety demanded she treat him as her professor, no matter that she'd always felt a certain kinship toward him... not that it mattered now. "It's okay, Remus. I understand what's going to happen and I'm- you, YOU, will be okay. You will continue on, complete your mission, and go home to your wife."

"Hermione, you know that I ca-"

"Yes, you can, Remus. Because it's not only what needs to be done, but because you you would never betray my last wishes."

"Why are you doing this, Hermione? How are you okay with this?"

"Because I'm- well, I'm 'greeting death like an old friend."

Her resolve was breaking as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She wouldn't allow it, she wouldn't. Her hands slid down to Remus' neck as she pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Remus, the man, will never __need__  my forgiveness, but I give it to Moony freely. You never know, I may have already changed something."

"I don't understa-"

His words were replaced by a whimper as his eyes blazed amber.

The change was upon them.

Remus' hands came to meet hers at his neck, trying to rid himself of her touch as he began shifting. Claws pushed through his nail beds, slashing through the flesh of her hands. Still she did not let go.

"It's okay, Remus. I forgive you. Go home to your wife. Your son needs you."

Inhuman sounds were bursting from his chest as strangled cries ripped through his throat, but he seemed to almost vibrate upon the mention of his son.

"Your son, Remus."

His pulse thrummed amid his shifting.

"Yes, Remus, it's a son. He's beautiful."

Her voice was raising as he began towering over her, bearing down on her by her wrists.

"He's a metamophagis, just like his mother. I was told his hair was changing so often after he was born that Tonks had no idea what color it really was for days after."

Tufts of hair were sprouting from Remus' skin, but still Hermione went on.

"His favorite color is turquoise hair, he's just so happy all the time. Teddy. That's his name. Teddy. Make it home to Teddy, Remus... Moony. Your pup needs you, your son-"

Teeth sunk deep into her throat, scratching, but not puncturing, her jugular, disallowing further speech. Howling filled the air around them, a hauntingly beautiful melody, a death march.

__I didn't get to finish telling him. He'll never get to know how beautiful he is, how he laughs when you dance with him, how he nestles into you when you sing to him, how he's restless on a full moon but quiets if you set him in her light._ _

Hermione felt Moony's jaws latch once more to her flesh, tearing the flesh and muscle of her shoulder, snapping her clavicle bone.

Darkness encroached on her vision. Her lungs were underfed. Her body had become numb. Still she refused to cry and instead allowed her eyelids to forever close.

__I forgive you, Remus._ _

__I'm so sorry, Harry._ _

 


	9. Necessary Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "I'll Follow You Into The Dark"-- Death Cab for Cutie

****Necessary Comfort** **

The painless comfort of darkness was draped around her and her dampened senses.

__Is this the in_ _ __ __between? But then why am I so cold?_ _

Chills ran across bared flesh and reawakened the sensitive nerves that lay beneath her now crawling skin.

"Teddy... Cub... My son... Oh, Teddy..." Came a stream of whimpering from near her.

Hermione's eyes snapped open to the new reality around her. Her blood-caked fingers twitched in an attempt to analyze the extent of her injuries but fell limply back to the dust just as quickly as they'd risen from it. Sharp movement sounded behind her as she realized her short-lived exploration must have alerted the self-consoling werewolf to her stirring. Suddenly she felt calloused hands, chilled by the wintered morning, roll her gruffly to face him before checking her pulse with a satisfied huff of tearful relief.

"I'm alive." Remus only nodded sheepishly in response. "You healed me."

"I tried." Hermione's heart rate sped as she recalled her last memories, those of beastly teeth sinking into her throat. Her hands struggled to claw at her neck but were pinned to her chest before she could feel for damage.

"Stay still, Hermione, you're only as healed as I could manage post-moon."

"How did I-"

"I don't know." Remus' eyes glanced to her hands before meeting her gaze with a questioning brow, silently asking if he could release her without further intentions to counteract his meager doctoring. She closed her eyes but nodded in acceptance.

"You were telling me about my-" Frustrated, Remus yanked at his unkempt hair when his voice hiccuped with thick emotion. "My son." The words, though finally uttered, were strangled, and Hermione couldn't help but to reach out for his face, grasping his chin until he met her eyes.

"I've been doing this a long time, Hermione, I have only ever been able to stay marginally aware a few times; in school when Severus came upon my change in the shrieking shack, the moons following James and Lilly's death, that following Sirius' death and- and last night."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. She had witnessed his struggle to tamper down his feral instincts, but she'd also seen him lose.

"I wasn't in control, I just, have the memories." Remus answered to her unvoiced question. "I remember you telling my I had a son... Teddy. I remember my instincts chanting that over and over in my head. 'Son... son... son' and then 'pup... pup... pup. I identified you as an essential being. You were not to be killed because I needed you to get to my pup. Whether I saw you as a tool or a threat, I honestly still do not know, I just knew you needed to be spared."

Hermione's jaw was slack as she took in the information. Her eyes were darting left to right and back again, as though mentally re-reading every book she'd read on Lycanthropy to recall if she'd heard of any such circumstance. Remus wanted to find the humor in it, to find relief in the fact she was still the endearing little academic whose thirst for knowledge overruled even the most terrifying of perils, though he found none.

"I still bit you, Hermione." Her reading eyes froze before flicking up to meet his.

"Oh. I mean, I knew that already but-" Remus cringed at the obvious withdrawal of her spirit.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I should have done something more. I will never forgive myself... and I know that you don't want to be near me right now, but we're still trapped and I-" The words tumbled over each other as he tried to voice his miserable sympathies, but fell short as all he could do was make to stand and leave her in peace in her little corner.

"Don't!" She shrieked as he turned his back. "Don't leave me, Remus!"

"What?" He frowned with a sinking heart at how childlike she looked, listless on the dusty floor with panicked eyes which bugged at the thought of being left alone. "I'm sorry, I just figured that... you're not safe with me, Hermione, that is abundantly clear."

"I __am__  safe. __You__ are my safety... please don't leave me." It stung Hermione, both in spirit and pride, to beg on a level so reminiscent of how Harry had clung to her just the night before.

There was nothing for it, in Remus’ eyes. No matter how revolted he was by his own self and spiraling shame, he would move the mountains for her if she asked, and she had asked him to stay. Her trauma was his fault, his responsibility, and now her needs would be as well.

"I won't leave you." He whispered, shaking his head in disheartened acceptance. "I won't ever leave you, little one."

And with that he shifted gently to slide down under the ragged sheet atop her, paying little mind to her nakedness or how she nuzzled desperately into him. They would need to discuss this further, for as far as Remus knew, Hermione had no recollection of shifting under last night's moon.

__For now, let her rest,_ _

He persuaded himself as he allowed his eyes to fall shut and let Hermione's warmth seep into his strained body. Surrendering to her, Remus reciprocated her hold and pulled her gently into himself. The sensation was impossible to identify. Was he her father, a brother, a lover, or a friend? It was all of them at once and yet none. Hermione's words echoed in his mind.

 _ _I__ am _ _safe.__ You _ _are my safety.__

And he understood. 

 


	10. Alpha Come and Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "Ruler and the Killer"-- Kid Cudi

****Alpha Come and Gone** **

They awoke hours later, not to each others warmth and protection, but to their bodies being dragged violently through the camp and pushed to the dust before Ardolf. Ribbons of molasses-like red oozed themselves from Hermione's barely healed wounds at the rough treatment and the blood coated her clammy, bare skin.

"Well, well." Smirked Ardolf in sarcastic enthusiasm. "Looks like the bitch might be useful to us after all. She has, after all, made it through the first transition."

Remus made every attempt to gain Hermione's attention, to gauge her reaction to her new reality, the likes of which they had yet to discuss or even confirm. True, she had taken the news that she'd been bitten in stride, but to accept that you've actually transformed was another matter entirely. Her face, though, was stony, stoic, and unfeeling- she was giving nothing away. The vibrant and passionate Hermione he had come to know was gone and it sent anxiety zinging through his every nerve.

"So how did you manage it, Remus?" Ardolf questioned as he crouched down in front of the man. "Did you betray our ways by tainting yourself with Wolfsbane?"

Remus, petrified of worsening Hermione's situation by giving the wrong excuse, only averted his eyes from the alpha.

"LOOK AT ME, YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!" Roared Ardolf as he gripped Remus by the neck and forced his eye contact upon him. "Answer the question or __you__  will not be the one paying for your silence."

Mind reeling, he settled on a partial truth.

"I don't know entirely, Alpha. The instincts of the wolf saw her as needing to survive."

"You're __lying__ , filth!" Before his thoughts could catch up to the Ardolf's quickened movements, Remus had been discarded in favor of forcing Hermione belly down the ground from behind her, threatening more than one form of "persuasion."

"SHEHADINFORMATIONABOUTMYSON!" Remus rushed out in heated despair. "She, she told me about my son, but not where he was, the pack instinct saw her as necessary means to track him."

Ardolf looked back to Remus before allowing a toothy grin to haunt his face and a laugh to the erupt from deep within his chest. Soon his head was flung back in glee before looking around the tent to ensure his subjects had joined him in his gaiety... which they dutifully had. Ardolf looked to one of the more seasoned of his pack and nodded to the girl beneath him, signaling him to haul her up and restrain her. Remus let out a breath as relief flooded him momentarily. That is, before the heavy hand of the large alpha balled itself into a fist and collided with his left temple, pounding reverberations from the sheer force of the strike through his body like shock waves.

"You think all will be forgiven so easily?" Ardolf demanded as he circled Remus' crumpled body before letting his bare foot crack down on his spine.

"No!" Shrieked Hermione, struggling once more against arms too strong for her to seek release from.

"ANSWER ME, YOU TREACHEROUS CUR!"

"No alpha. I seek your punishment, I do."

"Alpha... Ha! You dare call me alpha after what you've done."

"Please, Alpha, I don't understand."

"I am not your alpha, you little cunt. But speaking of little cunts..."

Hermione finally looked back to meet Remus' eyes, though I no longer wished for the contact. They were wide and fearful, and mixed with the painful dawning of the knowledge they both now had of the situation.

"You turned the bitch. She's yours now, your Omega. And that makes you..."

"My alpha." Whimpered Hermione quietly, only heard by the werewolves' increased hearing that hadn't quite yet diminished post-moon.

Remus swallowed heavily before switching his sights to Ardolf and nodding his head.

"Do it."

The simple acceptance took Ardolf by surprise as disappointment etched it's way across his face.

"What, no argument? No negotiations? Have you no pride?"

"I know your laws, I broke your laws, and I will die by your laws. No two alphas can live within a pack. We must fight for rule, and I am not so naive as to believe I will walk away from this... Just let my pup go." Ardolf had wanted the fight, he'd wanted him to beg. __Maybe the girl will instead... yes, that I can work with. Better make this slow, then.__

"Give me a good fight and she'll be released. Fight like the pitiful wretch you are and she'll be the pack's new beta. I’m sure they would be happy with __that__  particular outcome, it’s been a while since our last was-- broken…. Her fate is yours." Remus struggled to rise but was quickly struck back down by a back handed slap.

"Not starting off too well, are we?" Ardolf kicked Remus to flip him onto his back before stepping firmly onto his chest with a sneer. "Do you want to know what I'm going to do to your 'pup' once she's beta? I'm going to drag her to her knees and shove my-"

Remus couldn't handle the sick fantasies anymore and was impassioned by vengeful rage as he knocked Ardolf's off of his chest, taking advantage of his momentary stumble as he scrambled to right himself on his feet.

Hermione was horrified. This was her fault, her mistake, her miscalculation... also her responsibility. Tearing her sight away from the scuffle, she looked around the tent, weighing her options.

__If I could only get to my wand, it's somewhere in this tent, I know it._ _

Cheers erupted from the surrounding onlookers, informing her that Remus must have taken a heavy blow. So also felt the arms holding her captive loosen fractionally during the bout of excitement.

__This could work._ _

A strangled scream ripped from Remus' throat as Ardolf twisted his arm behind him at an unnatural angle, ripping it from its joint. Once again the arms encircling Hermione loosened and she knew it to be her best opportunity. She lurched her body forward against the slacked arms, allowing her enough room within them to turn to face her, now, unbalanced captor before landing her bony knee solidly against his nethers, dropping him downwards in pain. She had only seconds to get away before the others were made aware of her escape, hoping against all odds that the fight would delay that inevitability. Bolting, she ran toward a stash of knapsacks, determined that the salvation she sought would be somewhere among them. Footsteps began speeding up as one of the werewolves chased after her.

She fervently dug through the pile, searching frantically yet unable to find what she so desperately desired. The footsteps drew closer. Vaguely, she saw a slight glinting mere yards in front of her, a small beam of light bouncing off of little beads that were barely peeking out from their poorly concealed hiding spot beneath an unused pelt. Sharp nails dug into her shoulders before she could reach it, holding her in place before using her hair to pull her backwards.

"Hermione!" Remus shouted to her. She was so close to escape and he was failing her.

__I need to get her out of her. I'm a dead man walking, let me at least take down a few more with me._ _

In that moment his arm was not broken, his skull was not fractured, and Ardolf no longer existed. In that moment all that mattered were the few steps he managed toward the wolf pulling Hermione's crackling mane, the snap of their neck as their body crumbled to the floor, and the outraged cry of the pack as their attention was now solely on him as he placed himself firmly between them and Hermione.

"Go." He grunted to Hermione as he prepared for his final stand. "Go!" He ordered once more as the stalking pack began their onslaught. She could not deny him his command, though was unsure as to whether her compliance was due to their new hierarchy or the devastating ferocity in the eyes of a man in desperate need to confront death on his own terms.

Hermione finally made it to her bag, delved her arm inside and pulled out her wand to brandish in front of her, prepared to free her alpha from the horde.

Instead she met only pupils dilated with fight and fury and a round of snarls and threats. There was so much blood; their hands, their still naked bodies, even their mouths and teeth were coated with it.

And then there was Remus.

There he lay in the dust and dirt, his life's nectar seeping out of every inch of him... he was unrecognizable.

Hermione stumbled backwards in shock and misery. "No! Remus!" She shrieked, as if her shouts would rouse him from the blackness of the afterlife.

__I did this... I... I..._ _

__I can fix this._ _

Strengthening her grasp on her wand, Hermione threw up as many wards as she could. They would not keep the murderous pack out, but they would keep them at bay.

 _ _I just need some__ time.

Kneeling to the cold, dark earth she withdrew her vial of mercury and began her circle.

There wasn't enough.

She did the only thing she could think of, then. She drew her wand across her palm with a deep __diffindo__ , cupping her palm to let the blood pool before dipping her fingers in and finishing her runes. Ignoring the pounding of the pack clawing against her wards, paying no heed to the frustrated gnashing of feral, human teeth and the ferocious promises of pain and death... she cast.

 


	11. She Stepped Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter's Song Recommendation: "White Rabbit"-- Jefferson Airplaine

****She Stepped Alone** **

__

__I’m safe, I’m safe. It worked. I got out._ _

__

The night was coming back in flashed images, unfocused portraits glimpsing into fractured mind of a freshly turned were beast with the weight of time suppressing her better judgement. She remembered turning out of danger and into the lunar awakening of feral urges, she recalled the pudgy boy who refused her entry into the shelter of the Shrieking Shack. Above all she remembered the mangled corpse of her mentor, her savior, her alpha, as he fell to the massacre of martyrdom.

 

Hermione could not suppress the strangled mewling scraping its way from her throat out of the mourning her soul felt and the agony that was steeping her bones as her body sought to move.

__Her endeavors startled the animal she hadn't noticed dozing at the edge of the clearing. The creature jumped to its feet with a territorial snarl before pacing and stalking back and forth, hackles raised, haunches lunge-ready, and eyes ceaselessly tracking her every mo_ _ __vement,_ _ __down the labored rise and fall of her chest._ _

__"Padfoot?"_ _

Before her, the Black, moppy beast trembled and quaked until it fluidly, like rolling tides, swelled up into a proud man who steepled over her.

 _ _Too you, too… alive__.

“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and what your motive is before I blast you back to whatever Hell-hole you no doubt climbed out of.”

__… and too brash._ _

“My name is Hermione,” she managed to croak through the thick coating of dirt and grief constricting her lungs. “I mean you no harm, just a stranger caught in the woods under unfortunate circumstances.”

Sirius scoffed at her pitiful understatement and tragic attempt at deception. The cruel intentions pressed deep lines into his face that made him look, for the first since she’d seen him at any age, ugly, as though his malice had bittered his very blood.

“That means fuck-all to me and you know it. Now try again, the truth this time. What are you doing here?”

Disorientation, two transformations, a Black family temper… Hermione’s patience all but vanished.

“And I might ask you the same. What was an animagus doing roaming the the outskirts of a school on the night of a full moon. Is that not __also__  dangerously suspicious? Overly convenient, perhaps?”

“I’d say it’s a damn sight less ‘overly convenient’ than an unidentified werewolf threateningly positioned in a populated village just minutes before moonrise, wouldn’t you?” He roared back at her.

Hermione was stricken. She had logically comprehended what it meant to be infected with lycanthropy, but it was an entirely separate matter to have your circumstances bared in such a way that you reflected the monster you grew up fearing from SYFY and conspiracy theory programs. Remus had made her a werewolf, but Sirius, __Sirius__ , had made her a monster, and one that he was currently comparing to the likes of Fenrir Greyback.

Sirius watched as any remaining life drained from her eyes, devastation and violent self-loathing filling brim-full the girl’s emotional capacity. He’d seen that look all too often in the eyes of a best friend, and it led to his guilt by default.

__She truly didn’t mean to be here._ _

“Come on, then.” He sighed “I may not trust you, and I may no longer be a student, but I will get you to that school you mentioned and we’ll deal with you there.”

“But what about the--?”

“There’s no students.” He told her bluntly, wondering if perhaps she wasn’t devious but merely dim. “It’s July, school’s been out for weeks now.”

“Oh.”

__Oh. Oh? He’s had her at wand point and all she has to say is “oh?”_ _

“Well,” he ground out angrily, “what are you waiting for, then, a formal treaty? Move!”

“I can’t.” Hermione murmured through barely conscious eyes.

“You can’t? Well, fine then. Far be it to me to fight you on it, I’ll just go fetch some aurors, shall I?”

“I can’t __move__ , half-wit. As you so __delicately__  brought up I am a werewolf the night after a particularly horrific full moon…”

Sirius dragged his palm across his face in obvious frustration. __This little twit is going to be the death of me, I’m sure of it.__

“Alright then, little wolf.” The words sighed from his mouth as he approached her and snuck an arm around her waist to hoist her to her feet. “I’ll get you there. We will, however, still be ‘dealing’ with you.”

“Thank you.” Hermione responded coolly as she allowed him to support a majority of her weight, but the sentiment seemed to fall on deaf ears as he began his whinging mutterings about “what’s one more werewolf to babysit,” “someone should be paying me for this,” and “suspiciously daft she-wolves falling from the sky in an attempt to drive me barmy.” As his breaths became more labored from exertions, quiet began to settle upon them during their venture toward Hogwarts Castle.

“Did I do that to you?” Hermione asked, nearly inaudibly, as she tracked a line of bloody droplets up to a patchwork of slashes across his left shoulder. Sirius awkwardly shrugged to what extent he could, but otherwise remained quiet, for which she was grateful. And again they were left in silence.

Hermione entertained how oddly foreign the grounds felt. As a child, her parents would bring her on a long car trip to visit her Grandmother on her father’s side once a month. Though she adored her Nana, she fought with everything she could muster against making the trip as it felt so agonizingly long. After several months of that back-and-forth, however, she had found the burden of travel to be lifted. She had become so familiar with each landmark they passed, every turn and bump in the road, that it seemed to pass almost as uneventfully fast as apparating. That was, of course, until she had moved on the Hogwarts when the distinct details of her monthly travels began to muddle. The next time she had visited her Grandmother was for her funeral during the summer of first year-- she had fidgeted the entire way there. She had still recognized those landmarks, those bumps and those turns, but she had viewed them through the eyes of an outsider.

 

It’s odd, really, the memories one recalls in those moments of disorientation within a space that was once so familiar. Hermione had not thought of those trips in years, and yet, during the suffocating quiet of trudging their way across the grounds, her mind was consumed with them. Perhaps her mind was simply going into shock. She was now a stranger once again on the lawn where she had spent sunny days reading, on the bank where she had scolded Harry and Ron for flinging stones into its depths of the Black Lake, and on this particular path up from the Whomping Willow where she had last walked during the Battle of Hogwarts after watching Professor Snape fall into the clutches of death.

 

Yes, she was a stranger here, indeed.

 

At long last, Hermione Granger and the new, young Sirius Black stood before the imposing doors of Hogwarts’ front doors which groaned as they opened in obvious anticipation of their arrival. Hermione stepped lamely forward on her own, over the threshold of time, over the threshold of absolute uncertainty, over the threshold of a safe haven that was home to her no more; and when she stepped, she stepped alone.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Acceptance and Refusal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation for this Chapter: "Something in the Air"-- Thunderclap Newton

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dear.”

 

There was no disorientation, there was no denial of where or when she was, it was like she had merely closed her eyes and reopened them a moment later.

 

“I doubt you will be feeling very rested, as I’m sure you’ve experienced with the dreamless sleep. I would apologize if not for the wonders the potion has done for your healing.” It was true, Hermione physically felt no worse off than any of her self inflicted banishments to the bowels of the ministry that was the Department of Mysteries. Mentally, well, the more she ignored the glaring maladies of both her psyche and over debilitated mind, the better.

 

“Now, I will be remiss in sending you on your way without proper rest, but I regret to inform you that I must request just that. Unfortunately with the way our world stands at the moment, I cannot allow an unknown witch to stay within the walls of a school, albeit a vacated one. You understand, I’m sure?”

 

“Yes Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione nodded in absolute compliance, “Of course you can’t. Your care was already much more than I had a right to, I offer my gratitude.” She felt no resentment or misplaced hurt toward the poor woman. She was correct in getting Hermione out of her domain as swiftly and smoothly as she may. She understood perfectly that she lay no claim to any level of trust.

 

“Never mind that now, dearie. It is my duty to attend to the sick, whoever they may be, an offer of hearth and home however…” Her remark drifted into silence beyond the shifted rumple of starched bed sheets as she assisted the mysterious newcomer out of her cot. Once erected, Hermione pushed the luck of her accommodation a nudge, or perhaps a bound, further.

 

“I will be on my way, then-- but before I remove myself it is imperative I acquire a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, madame. We have some, shall we say, _ _sensitive__  matters to discuss.”

 

Doubt and hesitation, perhaps even a shred of fear, were made apparent on Madame Pomfrey’s face. It was understandable, really. Who was this unknown werewolf who used personal names, offered thanks from behind a mask of absolute indifference, and demanded appointments with the leaders of an underground resistance? It was the matron’s right to be overtly distrustful of Hermione, the stranger.

 

“I’ll take you.” Came an unexpected grunt. “This one here is awful company, anyways.” Sirius snarked from his seat next to Remus’ cot, gesturing toward the prostrate and still catatonic Remus beside him. Hermione envied him his naive rest. Sirius was smiling their way in a flawless display of well practiced charm. It took her own disassociated mind to pick up the subtle dissolution of authenticity as he captured eye contact with her.

 

“It’ll be fun,” he continued, never breaking their connection, “we can… get to know each other.”

 

X__________x

 

It seemed Sirius had miraculously heard her when she had said she was unable to disclose any details in regards to her illusory omnipotence. Though, nor did he forget his own stipulation over the insistence of the word “yet.” He followed her rigidly, silently, staying ever so slightly behind as to force her to show herself to the Headmaster’s office. It was an obvious test of her information, though Hermione was not particularly opposed to exposing her deep knowledge of the castle’s blueprints. All would come to a head soon enough, and the less she blatantly deceived Sirius now, the more likely he’d be to joining her complicity. There was no pomp, no circumstance, and no dialogue. They came upon their destination, which was noticeably lacking its trusted stone guardian. Sirius urged her onward with an embellished gesture toward the door, the same door with which Hermione nearly dove through with the determined closure of it behind her, effectively separating her from her watchdog.

 

“Good day, Headmaster.”

 

X__________x

 

Within the previous 24 hours alone, Hermione had seen a once again living Remus, once again die. She had awoken to a vitally alive and youthful Sirius, and held the memory of seeing one Peter Pettigrew with all ten fingers. Yet this, that single step over the threshold into the office of Albus Dumbledore, was the only part of her journey in which she felt unbalanced by the extent of her time travel. He looked just the same. There was no noticeable difference at all between the Headmaster before her and the headmaster who had sat, would sit, at the head of the Great Hall spouting off nonsensical words like nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak. Very little was different between the man in front of her and the would-be mentor during his final days, perhaps only a less waning pallor that came from not hosting a magical curse on his being. __The aging of youth is rapid, the emphasis on the the aged is unnoticeable__ , she acknowledged sadly to herself.The absence of change in a time not her own graced her with a sense of culture shock formed in an alarming mimicry of jetlag.

 

“A good day, indeed. I’d go so far as saying a __fine__  day, even, though I rather believe the opportunity for such an improvement weighs heavily on what you have come to discuss. Somber strangers for somber tidings, or have I miscalculated?”

 

Hermione, chin jutted forward and eyebrow cocked with a peacock’s pride, took every liberty in striding forward and finding a place to be seated in opposition to his.

 

“It is a __fine__  day, Headmaster Dumbledore.”

 

There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes, the fascination with this mysterious stranger’s brash assertiveness and the puzzle her presence and word play presented him with. War efforts or grim tidings be damned, Albus Dumbledore was enjoying their interlude.

 

“I see. And how, may I ask, have you come to fulfill such a revision?”

 

“Simple.” Hermione stated, fully aware of the grips of intrigue with which she was ensnaring him. “I have a very compelling story to tell.”

 

“I am all ears. Please,” he encouraged, “the floor is yours.”

 

“Very well, then.” Hermione dragged in a slow breath, like a bard drawing a dramatic pause before the telling of an epic.

 

“There once was a muggleborn girl named Hermione Granger, she entered a magical world at eleven years old and befriended a boy whose parents had been targeted and killed by a wicked ‘dark lord.’ She then proceeded to aid in an ongoing opposition against this evil-doer until his ultimate demise in the future year of 1994. After this event, her research led her to an ill-advised, though in many ways successful, attempt at a dangerous magical advancement. This resulted in her unanticipated arrival in a distant time, presumably predating her own birth.”

 

It was satisfying, really, to see the permanent pleasantries of the Headmaster seemingly congeal as a barely traceable hint of panic and understanding soured that persistent twinkling in his eyes.

 

“Yes, __Albus__ ,” she stressed in an outward attempt to gain control and standing, “I know what you have planned and I know how to fix it.”   

 

He was scrambling, shuffling papers and sifting through books. Hermione was vaguely curious as to whether this was the behavior Harry had been somewhat more privy to witnessing, or if even this distress was concealed from him. Finally he grasped onto a stack of parchments which were more than familiar to her own self.

 

“It’s not possible.” He muttered to himself, eyes flitting across the pages and diagrams before looking up at her from under furrowed brows. “How?” He demanded sharply.

 

“Very old magic, sir. Ritual circles, material elements…”

 

“But that doesn’t account for--”

 

“Soul magic.” She confessed with a sigh, too fatigued to keep up her charade.” Listen, Albus, Professor Dumbledore, you are one of __the__ great minds, and I do not doubt the deepest core of your moral intentions, but-- your plan is __not going to work__.”

 

Overwhelmed from his frantic search he sat heavily backward, absently nodding his head in acceptance. What she had admitted to made sense, it was a theory he had pondered himself only to dismiss such  thoughts as catastrophic. No one would lie about using such magic, to do so would be to condemn oneself. “Albus please, my dear, as I understand we will be getting to know each other quite well from this moment onward-- or at least, __I__ will be getting to know __you__.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She accepted, grateful to be acknowledged as an colleague opposed to a necessary evil, a deranged lunatic, or worse, a student. “Would you like me to more fully explain the situation of the war in my time?”

 

“No, I think not Ms… Granger. At least not immediately. I think, first, we must attain a place for you in this time.”

 

“With all due respect, Albus, I have no intention of taking up a false identity.”

 

Troubled by her resistance he attempted to appeal to her, clearly, logical mind.

 

“I understand the discomfort of being someone other than yourself, but you must see how necessary it is for you to do so. You have risked more than I believe you understand at the moment, my dear, and it would be unwise for you to further endanger yourself by continuing on as this older copy of a younger self later to come. And I cannot account for welcoming an unknown stranger into the war effort’s inner circle, as surely we cannot allow anyone outside this room to realize your previous whereabouts.”

 

“I understand and appreciate your feelings on the matter, sir.” Hermione placated as she tried to ignore the itching sensation in the air around you, a phenomenon similar in a warded area being oh so subtly manipulated.

 

“Good, then. I believe I have a viable option for you then, a family member, really. For a surname we will refer to you as--”

 

His words halted at the ominous creak of the office door’s inward swing. There was no question as to who was the root cause of the interruption.

 

“Won’t you join us, Mr. Black?” Albus asked coolly, his demeanor having reverted to that of benevolent Headmaster.

 

Sirius’ head poked around the corner with a genuinely abashed expression. He took a few sheepish steps into the room before clearing his throat in a rather conspicuous signal.

 

“Ah, and Mr. Potter too, it seems.” As an equally chagrined James Potter entered the room. “No longer students and yet still wrecking havoc on the castle, I see?”

 

“Sorry, Headmaster.” Came an unapologetic chorus from the overgrown boys, clearly unashamed of attempting to eavesdrop, only of being caught. Hermione couldn’t help the quiet snort that escaped her as she drew an uncanny parallel to Ron, Harry, and their sloppy plots to listen in on whatever was going on that they were being so rudely left out of. The sound was enough, however, to reclaim the curious attention of Sirius and James.

 

“Yes, well. Seeing as the damage has been done already, may I introduce the great-grand daughter of my second--”

 

There was an awful screech as Hermione forced her chair out from under her as she stood. Walking toward them, she acknowledged Sirius’ presence with a nod before boldly offering an outstretched hand to James.

 

“My name is Hermione Granger. I’m here to help your son.”  


End file.
